Darkiplier x Reader One Shots

possesive

warnings: this is defo not a healthy relationship bare in mind

There are two sides of him, one might say. One is primarily controlled by logic and cold polished feelings, a strive for success and the masterful art of manipulation. The other, however, one that shows much more often when he’s around you, is the incurable desire for both affection and destruction, love intertwined with hatred and violence mixing with a gentle touch. There is not a doubt in your heart that he loves you – in his own twisted way perhaps, but loves all the same. What you do doubt sometimes is your ability to hold and bear his love, because it is no sweet trip down the river in sunny spring. No. It is more of a stormy night, a bullet being fired or a car speeding down the highway bound to crash. It’s chaotic. Intense. Unstoppable. Destructive.

Ultraviolet, one may even say.

And he looks at you. Captures you with his mesmerizing gaze that makes the world melt around him, creating a mirage of darkness and he being the only light around. The pupils of his eyes seep with love, gentle around the edges but radiating blue and red intently, as if he is trying to mask his intentions. To anyone else, if anyone else was present besides the two of you, it would seem strange – he, Dark, the mastermind and Boss of the egos – coming to comfort a simple human with actual genuine feelings. That or they would assume he is using you, that he has plans for you in the near or far future. And in a way they would be correct. Who is he not using? Who does he not have under him, doing his every whim without even realizing it? You wonder as you wipe a few tears angrily.

You sit on a bed. Your bed. The walls of your room are is your favorite color, but now they appear an icky grey since his presents takes up the whole space. Even your hands, though blurry they may be still held a shed of humanity with the honey color of skin, but now…You feel trapped. Like you’re a part of him, like you can’t escape. In a way you really can’t – he stands by the doorway, his hand grasping its edge tightly in controlled rage. But you don’t want to either. You love him. Damaged and broken, yes, but you were always a person that was attracted to those sorts of things: ones that are complex to understand, harsh to the touch but rewarding, mesmerizing. Dark is the epiphany of good mixed with evil. You are unsure of how much good is left in him now that you get a better look at him through the curtain of already dried tears: nothing about him gives away even a smidge of heartache in seeing you in pain. But you don’t believe he is truly evil, either.

Why would he be so kind to you if he was?

But Dark is very possessive…Or, should you call him Damien, as Warfstache, in a depressive episode, once had called him? Damien sounds much sweeter than Dark. Perhaps you should try saying that name aloud? No…You wouldn’t dare.

The ache in your chest fades slowly. You sink back into your sheets and try to collect the stray thoughts that buzz in your head. There is a ring in your ears, a sharp and unpleasant one, one that irritates and causes vertigo. But you keep sitting. Pull the covers onto your lap and spray your fingers into the fabric, as if that would help you connect with reality better. Dark Damien is careful to approach you. Calculating. Anticipating your reaction – now you’re cold and unemotional, but you might snap at any given moment and give him hell for the stunt he pulled.

He can’t help it, though. He sits down next to you, making sure to keep his gaze fixed on you at all times. He is very possessive.

And he hates when others show you affection or kindness. He hates your friends. He hates your family. He even hates Will sometimes because the two of you seem to get along better than the rest. He hates you sharing smiles with others, giving hugs, laughing, simply talking to anyone else that isn’t him almost drives him over the edge. He feels like he’s not in control when he’s around you and especially when you’re around anyone else.

But Dark isn’t always…Dark. Sometimes his skin is not frosty gray and he doesn’t glow a vibrant red and blue. Sometimes he looks human. He had looked human tonight, barely a few hours before when you took him to the business party you were invited to. You got a promotion. Your boss, a charming though boing man, had graciously greeted the both of you. Dark Damien wore his best suit. You put on your favorite red dress.

And he held you to his side for the whole evening. His arm was as if glued to your waist and he glared fiercely at anyone who even dared to spare this happy loving couple a glance. And the night went on and on…and it was all fairly great despite a few ugly looks and harsh words, but that you could manage. What you couldn’t was DarkDamien, after a flirtatious comment from your boss, losing the pretty brown of his eyes to pitch black. It all went downhill from there.

You are sure your boss is dead. The whole floor is dead. When you left all you saw were walls painted red. Just like your room.

You blink. The static, the colorless world is gone as if someone had changed the filter. Startled you look at him; your heart jumps in your chest when you see a disheveled, human man, gazing at you with nothing but love and affection and a small somber smile. His hand cups your cheek, rough fingers tingle on your sensitive skin and you lean into the touch, “There is nothing” He starts, his voice velvety and low, “in this world that I wouldn’t do for you, Y/N.”

And as pathetic as that may sound, you instantly feel better. As if a heavy weight had been lifted off your chest and you had descended off the ground and into whatever heaven this is. Whatever heaven he is. You lean in and capture him in a kiss. It’s cold. His lips are terribly cold. So is his hand. As you part you look him in the eye and he smiles at you, “See?” His lips brush next to yours, “You know it, too…” And he kisses you again and he is neither as gentle nor as careful as you were.